Age of Heroes
by adamantineangel
Summary: Fate is a tricky business. Kyrie hadn't intended for all of this to happen. She just wanted to see her homeland again. In a moment, Kyrie finds herself wrapped up in events spiraling toward disaster and the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. But even the Dragonborn has her limits. After all, it takes a hero to make a hero. (Contains multiple OCs, language, and SPOILERS!)
1. Troubled Homeland

**Before I wrote "Dovahsil," I started working on a fanfic about the very first character I ever created on Skyrim - Kyrie Dragonheart - and all the other characters I created to exist in her world. "Dovahsil" was actually the second or third idea I came up with, and is actually based on one of my most recent characters. The other day I "rediscovered" my older fanfic, "Age of Heroes" and, being easily prone to nostalgia, decided to work on it again. So, here it is.**

**To be honest, this one is mostly for my brother and my friends in RL, considering the numerous OCs that exist in the story. This is especially true since some of the characters are actually my brother's. (He likes coming up with ideas, but hates writing). I plan on working on this story along with "Dovahsil," so for those of you who are enjoying that one, never fear. It will continue. And since "Dovahsil" and "Age of Heroes" are two separate stories (not based in the same universe), you can read one or both without worrying about spoilers. At least, you don't have to worry about fanfic spoilers. Can't say so much for in-game/quest spoilers. ;)  
**

**The story is rated T for violence, bad language, and alcohol use, but if at any point you think I should change the rating to M, just let me know. I'm not very good at figuring out how to rate these things.**

**Anyway, if you don't mind lots of OCs, feel free to read. Constructive criticism/encouragement is always appreciated. Flames are not. Happy reading!**

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A cool breeze rustled through the treetops as Kyrie trudged along a small animal trail that wound down from the mountains and into the forest beyond. The wind played at the ends of the young woman's deep red hair which hung about her shoulders, save for a bit on either side of her face which had been pulled away and tied at the back of her head. A scuffed iron sword hung at her hip, clanking lightly as Kyrie walked, but save for the clanking of her sword, the whisper of the wind, and the light patting of feet, no sound broke the stillness of the forest.

For a moment, Kyrie paused, glancing this way and that at her surroundings. That big tree there…hadn't she seen it not too long ago? Or was this a different one? No. This definitely couldn't be the same tree. She glanced around, looking for some other indication that she was still going in the right direction.

"Lost again?" came a voice from just behind her.

The young woman turned to look at her traveling companion: her younger sister, Ayrlyn. The girl looked up at Kyrie through familiar brown eyes so much like her own. The wind that shifted through the trees played at Ayrlyn's dark red hair which was pulled up into a high ponytail. She stood with one hand on her hip, a playful yet exasperated look on her narrow face.

"I'm not lost," Kyrie laughed uneasily, picking up her pace again. "I think…"

Her sister chuckled behind her.

"Just let me know when you want to look at my map," Ayrlyn sighed. "Though I'm beginning to think you just really like going in circles."

Kyrie paused long enough to stick her tongue out at her sister.

"Back at you," Ayrlyn laughed. "Are you certain you're 25?"

"Last I checked," the older girl grinned over her shoulder.

"If you say so."

Again Kyrie laughed, turning her attention back to the trail before her. She was glad to have her sister with her.

It had been years since Kyrie and Ayrlyn had set foot in their homeland of Skyrim. Though Nords by blood, the two sisters had spent most of their lives in Cyrodiil, having come to live with some family friends after the deaths of their father and mother during the Great War. But now even that life was becoming a distant memory. Their adoptive father, Albecius, had died in a mining accident a few years earlier, and recently, their adoptive mother, Selvia, had also passed away. With Albecius and Selvia gone, and since the old Imperial couple had no family to speak of, Kyrie and Ayrlyn no longer had any reason to stay in Cyrodiil. And so they had ventured out, hoping to find their long-lost kinsmen in Skyrim.

The trip had been Kyrie's idea. The young woman was a voracious reader and, having recently gotten her hands on a collection of books regarding Skyrim, she had suddenly felt the urge to return to the land in which she had been born. Ayrlyn had been perfectly content in the Imperial City. She had even been talking about joining the Mages' College. However, when Kyrie expressed her decision to return to the land of their forefathers, the younger girl had quietly packed her things and followed along. That was just how Ayrlyn was: gentle, content, loyal, always putting other peoples' interests above her own. Her personality was both her greatest quality and her greatest flaw.

As birds chirped in the trees and small animals darted in and out of the underbrush, Kyrie smiled to herself. Ayrlyn teased her about refusing to look at the map. It was true that Kyrie was stubborn. She liked to do things on her own, without relying on other sources - living or not - to help her out. It was an ego thing, really. But Ayrlyn wasn't entirely wrong when she jokingly said Kyrie liked wandering in circles, because the truth was that Kyrie _did_ like going in circles. At least right now, she did. Having lived in Cyrodiil since she was a child, the young woman had grown accustomed to the warmth of the southern reaches of Tamriel. But Skyrim...there was a spirit about its wild forests and brisk air that made her heart dance. And so she didn't worry about getting to a town right away. They had enough provisions to last several days and no particular destination in mind. There was no reason to rush in their travels.

Kyrie paused as she came to the top of a small rise in the path and glanced back at Ayrlyn who came puffing up behind her. Poor Ayrlyn. She wasn't quite as fit as her older sister. Kyrie liked to read, but she also had spent a lot of time training in the hope of one day joining the Imperial Legion. Ayrlyn, though, was little more than a mage. Her strength came in the power of her mind, not in the power of her body.

"Shall we find a place to camp?" Kyrie suggested, noticing for the first time how long the shadows in the forest had grown.

"I like that idea," Ayrlyn nodded, bracing her hands on her thighs to catch her breath. "My feet like that idea, too."

"Come on," the older girl urged, turning to continue walking. "I'm sure we'll find a good place to camp before too long."

Again the two young women set off, their attentions turning more and more to the growing darkness in the forest surrounding them. The sun had already slipped over the horizon when the scent of campfire smoke wafted up Kyrie's nose.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, pausing to search for the direction the scent was coming from.

Ayrlyn trotted to her side and glanced around.

"Smoke?"

"Campfire smoke. Maybe there's someone nearby who would be willing to share their camp with us."

Ayrlyn frowned doubtfully but didn't say anything as Kyrie set off in the direction of the smell. A moment later they stepped out into a clearing. There was a crackling fire in the center of the clearing, round, polished river rocks encircling the pit in which the fire was built. An imposing woman sat to one side of the fire, her keen grey eyes watching the dancing flames. She was broad-shouldered and looked to be rather tall, though Kyrie wasn't certain if she actually was that large or if her heavy iron armor was merely creating the illusion of size. A bag of meager provisions rested on the ground to the woman's left while an iron greatsword glittered from where it lay to the woman's right. She glanced up languidly when Kyrie and Ayrlyn appeared.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, glancing between the two. Her voice was deep and nearly as imposing as her looks, though there was no hint of hostility in her tone.

Kyrie blinked, for a moment at a loss for words, then she straightened up and said, "Forgive us for intruding, but we were wondering if we might sit by your campfire. We've been looking for a place to spend the night."

"Why not?" the woman shrugged, motioning for Kyrie and Ayrlyn to take a seat. "There's more than enough room. Stay as long as you like."

"Thank you," Kyrie smiled, glad that the stranger was less imposing in manner than in looks.

"You two look pretty well done in," the stranger mused as Kyrie and Ayrlyn plopped their rucksacks on the ground and took a seat by the fire.

"Just a bit. We've been travelling for a while now," Kyrie replied, stretching her hands out to the flickering flames in front of her.

"Only because you're stubborn and won't look at my map," Ayrlyn mumbled. She had already pulled her map of Skyrim from its place in a satchel she kept slung across her shoulder and was looking at it carefully. "Let's see…this is where we crossed the mountains."

"If you're looking for where we are now, we're just south of Blackwater Crossing," the stranger replied, pulling a bottle of mead from her bag and popping the cork out before taking a big swig.

"Oh! Found it!"

"Directionally challenged, huh?" the woman asked, leaning back on one hand and looking at Kyrie before taking another swig of her mead.

"Well, I haven't been to Skyrim in a while, so you can't really blame me for getting lost," Kyrie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.

"You got lost in the Imperial City, Kyrie," Ayrlyn responded, not even looking up from her map. "Remember? I had to come find you because Aunt Selvia sent you to buy more flour and four hours later you managed to end up on the opposite side of the city."

"Hey! I was only 13. And I was chasing a cat, so I wasn't paying attention."

"And I was only 8. Plus, you never pay attention to where you're going."

"Do, too."

"Really?"

"Yes…sometimes."

"Uh-huh."

A chuckle escaped the stranger's lips and both Kyrie and Ayrlyn looked up at her curiously.

"I take it you two are related."

"Yeah," Kyrie smiled. "She's my little sister."

"Come to think of it," Ayrlyn added, sitting up straight and looking at the heavily-armored woman sitting across the campfire from them, "we really haven't done proper introductions. I'm Ayrlyn and this is Kyrie. May I ask who you are?"

"Me?" the stranger grinned broadly. "I'm Hara." She jabbed a thumb toward herself. "Hara Bone-breaker, fighter for hire."

"Bone-breaker? That's an awfully scary name to carry."

"In my business, scary works in my favor."

At this, Hara put her mead bottle to her lips and chugged the rest down as if to prove how tough she was.

"Fighter for hire? Are you on a way to a job?" Kyrie inquired, leaning forward eagerly. Maybe Hara could help her find some work to test her sword arm.

"Nah," the woman shrugged, tossing the empty mead bottle back into her bag. "Finished my last job a couple days ago. Haven't been able to find any permanent work in a few months. At least, nothing decent. I've gotten a couple offers from bandits, but while I may walk the line every now and again, I have no intention of completely setting myself against the law just like that."

"Really?" Kyrie frowned. "I thought there'd be plenty of that kind of work around. I heard something about a rebellion before Ayrlyn and I left Cyrodiil."

"Yeah," Hara shrugged. "Jarl Ulfric killed High King Torygg and the whole country has gone to Oblivion ever since. Had something to do with the banning of Talos worship, I think. But I've never had much of a reason to care for politics. Generally speaking, it's bad for business."

"Oh. I see," Kyrie sighed. "While I understand that frustration, is it really necessary to tear the country apart?"

Hara scoffed noticeably.

"The Empire's a bunch of cowards," she huffed. "They're like simpering idiots with their tails between their legs whenever the Thalmor are around, but they won't hesitate to stab their own kinsmen in the back. I may not care for politics, but I have more forgiveness for the Stormcloaks than I do for the Empire. At least the Stormcloaks have some backbone."

As she listened to Hara rant, Kyrie noticed Ayrlyn look up and glance around nervously. Once Hara finished, Kyrie turned to her sister who sat tensely with her map in her lap.

"Ayrlyn?"

"Something doesn't feel right," the younger girl said, her eyes methodically scanning the shadows.

"What do you mean?"

At that moment, however, a shout echoed up from the darkness of the forest and in a moment the trio were surrounded by at least a dozen Imperial soldiers, their swords drawn.

"Three more over here!" one shouted over his shoulder.

Already there was the sound of swords clashing and men shouting wildly.

"What in Oblivion?" Hara snapped, her gauntleted hand snatching up the greatsword at her side. She barely had time to jump back before an Imperial sword sang past her face.

"You Stormcloaks won't get away this night!" one of the soldiers shouted, his sword clashing against Hara's.

"Stormcloaks?!" Kyrie exclaimed, drawing her sword and holding it out defensively. "What kind of nonsense is this?!"

Instantly a sword flashed in front of Kyrie's face and she dodged, bringing her sword up to block her attacker as he corrected himself and came in for another swing. From out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ayrlyn as the younger girl sent a sparking arc of electricity toward a nearby soldier. Immediately the soldier turned on the mage, his sword flashing in the light of the campfire.

"Ayrlyn!" Kyrie exclaimed, knocking her opponent's sword away and darting toward her younger sister.

She saw the Imperial lift his sword to strike her sister as a crippling pain struck her shoulder. It was only a fraction of a second that Kyrie remained conscious as she felt her knees give way and her vision turn black.

_What…_ she thought as a dark curtain fell over her mind. _What have I done?_


	2. Return of a Nightmare

The rattle of a moving wagon rumbled in Kyrie's ears long before she managed to stir her aching muscles and open her eyes. She sat up slowly, flinching and blinking at the sudden burst of light that flooded her vision. When the blurriness faded, the young woman found herself in the back of a wagon driven by an armed Legionnaire. Her sword was gone. Her rucksack was gone. Even her overclothes were gone, leaving her dressed in nothing but the ragged clothes she had been wearing beneath her leather armor. Her hands were bound and rested uncomfortably in her lap.

Memories of the moments before she went unconscious flooded her mind and quickly Kyrie glanced at the other people in the wagons around her. Her heart sank when she failed to spot Ayrlyn and she covered her face with her hands in shame. If only she had been content to stay in Cyrodiil. If only she had told Ayrlyn to stay home. If only...if only...if only...

"Hey! You!"

Kyrie glanced up at the sound of an accented male voice, her eyes resting on the figure sitting across from her on the wagon. He was a handsome man, dressed in some sort of blue and grey light armor, if it could even be considered armor at all. His hair was a rich blond and hung to just above his shoulders, a strand to the left of his face having been braided.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" he continued. "Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

He motioned with his head toward a dark-haired man in rags sitting at the end of the wagon. The thief flinched and grit his teeth, clenching his fists together when he heard the man speak. Kyrie glanced in the direction the blond indicated before shaking her head.

"I was already across the border," she responded. "What's going on?"

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief bit bitterly, not even giving the blond-haired man the chance to answer Kyrie's question. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

At that the thief turned to look at Kyrie.

"You there," he said. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Kyrie frowned at him doubtfully.

_I shouldn't be here_, she thought. _Not so sure about you_.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the Stormcloak replied slowly, his words laced with venom.

The thief scoffed and looked as though he might have replied to the Stormcloak's words, but he couldn't say anything before the guard driving the wagon threw a fiery glare over his shoulder.

"Shut up back there!" the guard barked before turning back to the uneven road before him.

Kyrie wrinkled her nose at the guard's back.

_Honestly,_ she thought to herself. _What does he think we're going do? Talk him to death? We're already tied up, and it's not like we're plotting escape. What's wrong with talking? Horker._

A rueful chuckle escaped the thief's lips and he turned toward the man sitting across from him, who was dressed in fine clothes and sitting stone still. This other man had been gagged, but he looked out on the world through a pair of keen eyes. There was a nobility, a pride about him, and Kyrie wondered if he was a nobleman of some sort.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief said.

Immediately the Stormcloak sitting across from Kyrie stiffened.

"Watch your tongue!" the blond commanded, his voice sharp and warning. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the _true_ High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" the thief questioned, obviously startled. He turned to the one called Ulfric. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you...oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

Kyrie could hear panic rising in the thief's voice. Quietly she glanced down the sloping road as it curved around the forest trees. True high king? Rebellion? Ambush? The thief's panicked voice caused a lump to form in the young woman's throat as the realization of what was going on finally struck her.

_It sounds as though I'm in a bit of trouble,_ Kyrie laughed inwardly. _Just my luck._

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," the Stormcloak replied solemnly.

The young woman felt as though her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach.

_Oh. Bloody. Oblivion._

"No! This can't be happening. This isn't happening!" the thief exclaimed, covering his face with his hands.

Kyrie could feel a shiver run down her spine. A fool. She had been a bloody fool. How could she have ignored the rumors of rebellion? Of course, who would have guessed that the imperials would have marked _her_ as a rebel. And as she glanced around at the other people in the wagons that rumbled down the road, this question began to grow bigger in Kyrie's mind. She didn't look anything like a Stormcloak. If nothing else, she certainly didn't have the Stormcloak armor. She could feel herself relax slightly. It had been dark the night before and the imperials had been eager to catch the rebels. All she had to do was explain her situation and she should be able to go free. She didn't doubt that the Empire had its sights set on the thief, but Kyrie had done nothing wrong. Surely they would let _her_ go.

As she looked at the people in the other wagons, Kyrie spotted Hara, who had also been stripped of her armor and weapon. It was strange, but the dark-haired woman seemed to look more imposing now than she had in her armor. There was a menacing expression on her face as she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs and her chin in her bound hands. Her right foot tapped impatiently against the wood floor of the wagon in which she sat, and Kyrie couldn't help but wonder if it would be dangerous to release the woman now. She had a look in her eye that was absolutely murderous.

Just then, the Stormcloak in front of Kyrie began to speak and the young woman glanced back over to the people immediately in her wagon.

"Hey...what village are you from, horse thief?" the Stormcloak questioned. His tone was decidedly softer than it had been before.

"Why do you care?" the thief responded bitterly.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the Stormcloak replied, his voice laden with emotion.

The thief paused. His voice was choked when he at last spoke.

"Rorikstead," he said. "I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

_Home…_ Kyrie thought. Did she even know what "home" was anymore? The thought of Ayrlyn crossed her mind and she choked back a sob. Without her sister, could she ever call any place home again?

By this point, the first signs of a village could be seen down the path. A moment later, the wagon turned a corner. Kyrie could now see a village spreading out before her, with high stone walls and wood-framed buildings.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting," a nearby guard called to a man in fancy imperial regalia.

"Good. Let's get this over with," the one called General Tullius replied.

A wave of panic swept over Kyrie when the general's words caught her ears. She swallowed and clenched her fists, trying to stay calm.

_Now, now,_ Kyrie thought sarcastically, trying to keep herself from allowing her fear, and anger, and sadness to overtake her. _Let's all keep our heads, please._ She paused at this thought. _Oh my. That was bad._

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines please help me!" the thief exclaimed.

The Stormcloak seemed to have his own way of facing his death.

"Look at him!" he said, pure venom dripping from every word he spoke. "General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves! I bet they had something to do with this!"

He paused for a moment as he glanced around at the village, then a sad expression crossed his face.

"Ahhh, this is Helgen," the Stormcloak sighed, a sense of longing creeping into his voice. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny. When I was a boy, imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

_Me, too,_ Kyrie thought with a sigh. She glanced around at the large group of prisoners in the wagons in front of her. _No trial. No discretion between the guilty and the innocent. Just the headsman. Is this really what Skyrim has become? Is this really what the _Empire_ has become? I didn't realize head-lobbing was a sport._

"Who are they, Daddy? Where are they going?" came the sound of a young boy's voice.

Kyrie turned to see a boy of about 8 or 9 standing off to the side of the road. She watched as the man near him urged him toward one of the houses.

"You need to go inside," the father said.

"Why? I wanna watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

Kyrie stiffened as the wagon began to slow to a stop.

"Yes, Papa," she heard the boy reply.

Youth and all its innocence. Kyrie could only wonder what would become of Skyrim...what would become of the Empire...if this sort of action continued. What would happen to the children who would grow up under the rule of a government so unjust as the one she now faced? Had she really ever aspired to become one of them? The thought immediately morphed her lingering fear into a sense of hatred and she shuddered slightly as a wave of anger washed over her body and spirit. Quietly she lifted her head toward the imperial guards. If she had to die, she hoped that her death would mean something. But even if it didn't, she would go to Sovngarde with courage. At least, she hoped she would.

Just then the wagon pulled to a stop in front of a stone wall.

"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked, looking around with wide, frightened eyes.

"Why do you think?" the Stormcloak replied. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

Kyrie watched as the thief and Ulfric Stormcloak reluctantly stepped out of the wagon before she followed suit. Already several imperial soldiers had gathered in front of them. One, a woman with strong, square shoulders and a sour expression on her face, was dressed in high-grade armor; the one standing beside her, a man of roughly Kyrie's own age or possibly slightly older, was clad in regular armor. He held a list in hand and stood attentively waiting for orders.

"Step toward the block when we call your name," the female soldier barked harshly. Kyrie assumed she was the guard captain. "One at a time!"

A sigh escaped the Stormcloak's lips and Kyrie glanced over at him.

"Empire loves their damn lists."

The guard in regular armor lifted his list and began to read.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Kyrie watched as the man with the gag in his mouth stepped forward. He still couldn't speak aloud, but his eyes spoke for him. He was proud, and he was defiant. There was no fear in those eyes.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the Stormcloak said solemnly.

The Jarl paused only briefly, closing his eyes and nodding slightly in recognition of his comrade's words.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The Stormcloak stepped forward, his posture as proud and strong as that of the jarl. One corner of Kyrie's mouth twitched up in a half smile. If it were possible to come back and haunt people after death, she would make sure to find Ralof and Jarl Ulfric and add them to her list of haunting buddies. There was certainly retribution to be paid.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief, who stood in front of Kyrie, jumped slightly when he heard his name called.

"No! I'm not a rebel!" he exclaimed. "You can't do this!"

Kyrie's mouth dropped slightly as she watched the one called Lokir bolt past the guards, back up the trail in the direction they had come.

"Halt!" the guard captain shouted.

_Oh, yes, halt! I only want to chop your head off. I can't think of any possible reason you would feel like running away,_ Kyrie thought sarcastically.

"You're not gonna kill _me_!" Lokir shouted back.

Kyrie's eyelids dropped slightly in an I-can't-believe-you-really-just-said-that look. _Famous last words_, she thought to herself.

"Archers!"

The young woman watched as an archer put an arrow to her bow and loosed it at the escaping prisoner. The thief fell dead, the arrow in his back.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the guard captain asked menacingly, her cold grey eyes glancing between the remaining prisoners.

_Ass. You're the first one I'm coming back for._

The guard with the list grimaced slightly, then turned back to Kyrie.

"Wait. You there, step forward. Who are you?" he asked.

_The bitch that's going to come back from Sovngarde and eat your soul for breakfast,_ Kyrie thought to herself.

"Kyrie," the young woman replied stiffly. "Raised in the Imperial City, but originally from Solitude."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," the guard said, his voice tinged with regret. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

His voice almost sounded hopeful, as though perhaps he was going to try to get Kyrie out of a death sentence if at all possible.

_Ok, fine. You're not so bad. I won't eat your soul. I've got bigger fish to fry._

"Forget the list. She goes to the block," the captain responded curtly.

_You, bitch, are one of those bigger fish._

"By your orders, Captain," the guard responded. He turned to look at Kyrie. "I'm sorry. But at least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the captain, prisoner."

_Oh, sure. That's comforting._

Kyrie frowned at him as she turned in the direction the guard had indicated. He was probably as helpless as she was when it came to the guard captain's decisions, so she found it hard to hold it against him.

_Still, though,_ she thought as she lined up with the other prisoners. _You picked the wrong job, buddy._

Just then Kyrie felt someone elbow her arm and she glanced up to see Hara. For the first time, the young woman noticed how truly imposing Hara was. Kyrie wasn't short, but the other woman must have stood a good three or four inches above her. Her shoulders were broad and square and her arms rippled with muscle. She looked every bit the Nord she was.

"I think your sister made it," Hara said softly, her eyes focused on General Tullius as the man stepped toward Ulfric Stormcloak.

Kyrie's heart leaped slightly at Hara's words. Hope. There was still hope for Ayrlyn. It was a comfort, at least, since it was Kyrie's own foolishness that had gotten her sister in that mess to begin with.

Quickly Kyrie glanced around at the prisoners crowding around her. She and Hara weren't the only ones who didn't look like Stormcloaks. There was also an elf there, possibly a Bosmer, though her skin was exceptionally fair and, aside from some facial features and the pointed ears, she really didn't look much like an elf at all. She also was possibly the only one of the group who looked neither frightened nor angry. Actually, she almost looked bored. Kyrie couldn't help but wonder what had landed that one in the same predicament as herself and Hara.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," came General Tullius's voice. Kyrie glanced back at the Imperial. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Kyrie stood a little straighter at this comment. The Voice? Murder? What was the general talking about?

Ulfric grunted bitterly in reply.

"You started this war," the general continued, "plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

_Peace?_ Kyrie thought bitterly. _You mean the kind of peace that allows you to execute innocent people without a fair trial? Oh, yes. That sounds peachy to me._

All of a sudden a distant roar split the still air and several of the guards glanced around nervously.

"What was that?" the guard with the list questioned.

"It's nothing," General Tullius replied. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" the guard captain chimed.

Kyrie huffed slightly. _You are such a lapdog._

"Give them their last rites," the captain continued, turning to a robe-clad priestess standing just beyond the rugged chopping block and ominous, ax-wielding headsman.

The priestess nodded, then lifted her arms and began, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight Divines upon you."

_You're about to chop my bloody head off,_ Kyrie thought. _Like Oblivion, I want your blessing._

It seemed Kyrie wasn't the only one put off by the priestess's showy act, for immediately one of the Stormcloak prisoners stepped forward.

"Nirn our beloved-" the priestess continued.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" the man snapped, stomping over to the chopping block.

"As you wish," the priestess huffed, turning away.

Kyrie couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" the Stormcloak growled.

He gave the guards around him one more fiery glare before turning to the chopping block. For a moment he paused, staring at the scarred stone before him. Then one of the guards pressed him down until his head rested on the stone.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, imperials. Can you say the same?"

Kyrie watched with growing trepidation as the headsman raised his ax. Shouts of "You Imperial bastards!" mingled with "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" Then..._thwack!_

Kyrie flinched slightly and averted her eyes as the ax came down on the Stormcloak's neck. It was one thing to have a fair chance in a fight. It was another thing to think, _That's going to be my head and I can't do a damn thing about it._

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof sighed.

Kyrie glanced over at the man next to her. Yes. Fearless, indeed. She wasn't sure she could match up to that, but she'd certainly try.

"Next, the Nord in the rags," the guard captain called, pointing at Kyrie.

The young woman drew in a deep breath. She could feel her legs trembling beneath her. Though it was hard to believe right now, she knew that death by beheading was probably one of the better fates she could have met. After all, it would be quick and painless. Small comfort that was.

All of a sudden, another roar split the still mountain air. It was louder this time, and Kyrie glanced around at the sky. It wasn't like any roar she had ever heard before, and it sounded as though it were coming from above. Of course, that was unlikely. Only birds could fly, and there were no birds that she could think of that could make a sound quite like that. No, it must have been her imagination, a sound from the mountain that only seemed to have come from the air. But still… A chill ran up and down her spine, and it felt like her blood ran cold through her veins. Was she simply afraid of death, or was it something else?

"There it is again," the guard with the list said, also glancing up into the sky. "Did you hear that?"

"I said next prisoner!" the guard captain shouted.

The guard with the list gave his captain a bewildered stare, then turned back to Kyrie.

"To the block, Prisoner. Nice and easy."

_Ass,_ Kyrie thought as she sighed and stepped forward. She came to a stop before the guard, then turned to the chopping block and laid down on her side, staring up at the headsman above her. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but she kept her gaze steady. She wanted to look her killer in the face before she died. She would remember him in the afterlife.

As the headsman began to raise his ax, however, a dark form swooped down from the sky. At first Kyrie couldn't believe her eyes. Her blood began to burn like fire in her veins and she wanted nothing more than to jump up, but her body itself felt paralyzed by the visage before her. Another roar split the still mountain air as the black form soared toward the people gathered around the chopping block. All eyes turned in the direction of the dark visage.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius exclaimed.

The black form swooped low, the ground quaking as the massive body landed on the stone tower not far away.

A chill ran down Kyrie's spine. It couldn't possibly be! But then, she had read enough books to know what she was seeing. That reptilian body...those shimmering scales like plated iron...those leathery, outstretched wings and pale ivory teeth like rows of new-sharpened daggers...there was only one thing that could be.

"Dragon!"

And then there was chaos.


	3. Unbound

It all happened so fast. At one moment, Kyrie was watching as the headman raised his ax high above his head, thick arm muscles bulging, preparing to end the unfortunate prisoner's life in a single, cruel stroke. Almost at the same moment, however, the dragon - whose head was the size of a grown man, his scales a shimmering ebony - landed with a thud on the roof of the tower just beyond. For a moment, it was like time stood still as Kyrie stared into the face of the beast before her, and it felt as though the dragon's gaze burned into Kyrie's very soul.

"Dragon!" someone shouted.

A wry smile crossed the young woman's face. Here was her chance! Sovngarde could wait, if only for a few more minutes.

A reverberating force from the dragon's gaping mouth knocked the surprised headsman to one side, and quickly Kyrie rolled away from the chopping block. Another blast of power caused the ground beneath her feet to tremble, something heavy grazed the side of her temple, and for a moment her vision was nothing more than a blur of color. The sound of people yelling and screaming echoed in her ears as a strange pounding shook the earth beneath her.

All at once, however, the young woman felt a strong hand hook under her arm, and when her vision cleared she looked up to see Hara hauling her to her feet. The Stormcloak named Ralof crouched nearby, and as Hara pulled the red-head up from where she had been kneeling on the ground, he shouted, "Hey! Come on. Let's go. The gods won't give us another chance. Follow me. We can take cover in the guard tower!"

Immediately Hara pushed Kyrie forward toward the Stormcloak, and the group stumbled toward the guard tower Ralof had indicated. When the last of them were in, Hara shoved the door closed behind them.

Kyrie cringed when she spotted a couple of wounded Stormcloaks sitting on the tower floor in pools of bright red blood. It looked so painful, but she didn't have time to think too much about it before Ralof's voice broke through the rumble of the fiery explosions outside.

"Jarl Ulfric," the man said, his voice shuddering slightly, "what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," the jarl replied lowly.

A thundering dragon roar caused the stone walls of the tower to tremble as if in an earthquake.

"We need to move! Now!" Ulfric shouted, motioning for the Stormcloaks resting on the floor to get up.

"Up through the tower!" Ralof added, darting up the spiraling staircase nearby. "Let's go!"

Without a word, Hara grabbed Kyrie by the shoulder, shoving her forward toward the staircase and following close from behind.

"Hara!" Kyrie called, lifting her bound hands slightly as she turned to the taller woman. "My hands!"

"All you need's your feet," Hara replied, grabbing the red-head by the shoulders and turning her to face up the staircase again.

"And my head," Kyrie laughed over her shoulder.

Another dragon roar shook the tower. A wry smile crept onto Hara's face.

"And your head," she nodded.

_BANG!_

The group ducked for cover as a portion of the wall at the top of the stairs exploded, tongues of flame scorching the stone and a couple Stormcloaks buried beneath the rubble. Once the flames had cleared, the group stumbled up to the top, peeking out through the hole the dragon had only recently created.

"You see the inn on the other side?" Ralof said, motioning to a burning building just beyond the tower. "Jump through the roof and keep moving!"

Kyrie's jaw dropped slightly when she heard the man's words.

"Say what?!"

"Jump! We'll follow if we can!"

"But-"

"Jump!" Ralof and Hara shouted simultaneously.

The young woman had no time to protest when Hara gave her a nudge toward the edge, just enough so that she had no choice but to take the jump. The red-head could feel a scream welling up in her throat as she pelted toward the charred, roofless building beyond. She landed on the floor of the burning building with a heavy thud, rolling several feet before coming to rest with her bound hands pinned between the wooden floor and her stomach, the air knocked out of her.

A groan escaped Kyrie's lips as she pushed herself to her knees, painfully aware of the splinters in her arms and face. Whoever said payback was a bitch had never met fate.

The young woman glanced up as Hara landed squarely on her feet with a loud thud, and the dark-headed woman tossed her a lopsided grin when she saw Kyrie glaring at her.

"Still alive?" she questioned, pulling the red-head to her feet.

"Alive, yes. Feeling like a pincushion with all these splinters, though," Kyrie responded, motioning with her head toward the very noticeable trail her landing had left in the ash on the floor of the inn.

"Better to be a pincushion for the floor than to be one for a dragon or a soldier," Hara replied, half dragging Kyrie toward a hole in the floor of the burning inn. "We can worry about that later."

The sound of people shouting, fire crackling, and the dragon roaring mingled in the smoke-filled air as Kyrie and Hara darted out of the burning inn. They stumbled to a halt, however, when they spotted two men nearby. One, Kyrie didn't recognize. The other, though, was the soldier with the list. Only, he didn't seem to be worried about his list now.

"Haming, you need to get over here! Now!" the soldier shouted.

Kyrie watched as the boy from before stumbled toward the soldier, a look of sheer terror written on his young face.

"That a boy. You're doing great," the soldier continued, urging the boy around the charred remains of what once was a house.

The ground shook as the great black dragon landed with a heavy thud just behind the boy, and instinct made Kyrie lurch forward in an attempt to jump out and drag the child to safety. Quickly, Hara grabbed the red-head by the arm to stop her, and the Imperial soldier pushed the boy around a pile of rubble only a split second before a stream of blazing fire poured out of the dragon's mouth, lighting up the area around them like a second sun.

The soldier tossed the two women a brief look before ushering the boy named Haming over to the man Kyrie didn't recognize.

"Still alive, you two?" he called over his shoulder. "Stick close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," Gunnar said, pulling Haming close to his side.

Quickly Hadvar turned in the direction the dragon had been only a moment before and hurried off, shouting over his shoulder, "You two! Follow me!"

For a moment, the pair hesitated, glancing at each other doubtfully. Kyrie wasn't sure what Hara was thinking at the moment, but following an Imperial soldier seemed like a bad idea to her. As far as she was concerned, that was just prolonging the inevitable.

Another fierce roar echoed just above their heads as the dragon swooped low, the wind from its massive wings stirring the young women's hair and flinging it in their faces as the creature flew over them, a stream of fire spilling to the ground not but a few feet away. That was all the coaxing it took. Hara grabbed Kyrie by the arm and the two took off running after Hadvar. Better to take their chances with the disorganized Imperials than to try and do a face-off with an angry dragon.

"Stick close to the wall!"

The soldier was already plastered to a nearby stone wall as the two young women stumbled up to him, and Kyrie barely had time to do likewise before the black dragon landed on the top of the wall with a heavy thud. The red-head could feel every hair on the back of her neck stand on end as the dragon's right wing came down on the side of the wall to steady the massive body, its talons hovering mere inches from the young woman's face. And then, with a great whoosh of air, the dragon soared up into the sky again.

"This way!" Hadvar shouted.

The trio quickly darted up the stairs of what once may have been a house and through the burning rubble to the open road on the opposite side. Kyrie watched as the soldier rushed over to a group of other Legionnaires who were shooting equal numbers of arrows and curses at the great black beast that kept dousing them with fire, and she jumped when Hara bent low next to her ear.

"Hey," the fighter-for-hire said so only Kyrie could hear. "I think I see a way out. Maybe we should ditch the lap dog and-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence before the soldier reappeared next to them briefly.

"To the keep, prisoners!" he shouted, leading the way. "There's no hope for Helgen. We have to leave now if we wish to survive!"

"Rather ironic, don't you think?" Hara chuckled ruefully as she and Kyrie ran side-by-side in pursuit of the soldier. "Just a minute ago he was telling you to quietly submit to a beheading."

Kyrie nodded, but said nothing. Oh, she hadn't forgotten. She definitely had not forgotten.

A flash of blue and grey caught the corner of the young woman's eye, but she didn't have time to process what she was seeing until the Imperial soldier before her ground to a halt just outside the keep.

"Ralof, you damn traitor!" Hadvar snarled bitterly.

That was when Kyrie recognized him. The blond-headed rebel, who had just barely climbed over a pile of rubble on his way toward the keep, paused at the sound of the soldier's voice, turning to look at Hadvar with a solemn yet stern expression.

"We're escaping, Hadvar," the Stormcloak declared, his bruised fingers flexing around the handle of a steel ax. "You're not stopping us this time."

"Fine," Hadvar bit back. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

Ralof flinched slightly at the soldier's words, but he didn't reply, choosing instead to turn back toward the keep.

"This way, friends!" the blond shouted to Kyrie and Hara.

"Follow me, prisoners! Into the keep!" Hadvar shouted at the same instant.

Kyrie's jaw dropped slightly as she stared after the soldier. Then she turned to look up at Hara.

"Is that guy delusional?" she asked, jabbing a finger in the direction of the Legionnaire's retreating form.

"I'm beginning to think so," Hara replied, grabbing Kyrie by the shoulder and leading her in the direction that Ralof had just gone.

A moment later, the trio stumbled into the keep, with Ralof half slamming the doors closed behind them.

"Gunjar!" Ralof exclaimed suddenly, rushing over to the still form of a Stormcloak man lying up against the far wall of the room in which they stood. A pool of blood had already begun to form on the keep's stone floor, a streak of crimson painting the wall not far away.

Kyrie and Hara watched silently as the blond knelt down at his comrade's side. The man pressed two fingers gently into the neck of his fallen friend, but sighed after a moment, bowing his head in grief.

"We will meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof said quietly, his voice trembling.

His grip on his ax tightened as he balled his free hand into a fist. Then, letting out a slow breath as though to calm himself, the man at last pushed himself to his feet and turned to look at the two women standing nearby.

"That thing was a dragon. No doubt about it," he said with a shake of his head. The look on his face told them he was having difficulty believing what he was saying. "It's just like in the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the end times."

"Harbingers?" Hara questioned.

"That's what they say," Ralof nodded, glancing over at his friend's lifeless body. "It is said that the coming of the dragons will become the catalyst for the end of the world. It may even be that they will cause that end. After today, I might just believe that, though when I was a boy, I thought those were only stories."

"I don't know how I feel about all that 'end times' nonsense," Hara shrugged. "Never was superstitious, myself. But that dragon sure does seem to be a force to be reckoned with. Not sure who I find more threatening to Skyrim: the Imperials or the dragon."

One edge of Ralof's mouth tipped up slightly in the semblance of a lopsided grin.

"Aye," he chuckled ruefully. "A fair question."

"Umm…not to interrupt," Kyrie put in suddenly, leaning in front of Hara to catch the other woman's attention, "but can we debate the Empire's resemblance to a dragon _after_ you've untied my hands and we've escaped said Imperials and dragon?"

"Oh!" Hara chuckled, reaching out and beginning to work at the knots that bound the red-head's hands together. "Sorry, Kyrie. I completely forgot."

"So I noticed."

"Here. Let me see if I can help," Ralof offered, pulling a small knife from his belt and cutting at the rope.

A moment later, the frayed strands fell away from Kyrie's wrists and she stood back, sighing happily as she rubbed the chaffed skin where the rope had been.

"Much better."

"Alright," Ralof nodded. "Now that that's done, we should see if we can find a way out of here. One of you might as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore. I'm going to see if I can get one of these doors unlocked."

"Is his gear even usable?" Kyrie questioned as Hara knelt down by the body.

"I think so," the other woman nodded as she began to undo buckles. "It looks like a head injury may have been the cause of his death. He bled out pretty bad."

"And you're going to wear that?"

"If I can. The blood doesn't bother me. And in any case, armor's armor. You're gonna have to learn that soon, kid, if you want to survive another day in Skyrim."

Kyrie might have questioned her new friend further if not for the fact that, at that moment, Hara began pulling the dead Stormcloak's clothing off. The realization of what Hara was doing hit her full force and, stifling a yelp of surprise, the red-head quickly averted her eyes: to the ceiling, to the three doors leading into the room, to anything but the naked body of the man lying on the floor at her feet.

Hara must have heard her gasp, though, because the other woman chuckled as the rustle of clothing and the clink of belts being buckled caught Kyrie's ears.

"Innocent, are we?" the dark-headed woman laughed. "Don't worry. I didn't take his loin cloth."

"Oh," Kyrie huffed with a nervous half-laugh, her eyes still glued to the door through which they had come. "That's…comforting."

Hara chuckled again, but she couldn't respond before Ralof let out a frustrated growl.

"Damn," he said, turning back to the two women. "I can't get this one open. Let's try…uh, that's rather…small on you, don't you think?"

Kyrie glanced over at Hara, who Ralof was looking at rather strangely, and she couldn't keep herself from giggling slightly. Breadth-wise, the armor fit the towering woman relatively well, though it _did_ seem a bit tight. When it came to the leggings and hem of the cuirass, however, that was another case entirely. The cuirass came down only as far as the tops of the woman's thighs, and even with the fur-lined boots the woman had slipped onto her feet, pale skin still glowed between the edges of the leggings and the tops of the boots.

The sound of Kyrie's giggles caused the corners of Ralof's mouth to tip up in a grin, and he covered his mouth with one broad hand, no doubt to suppress the chuckle that was now causing his shoulders to shake slightly.

"Well," the man said, his voice sounding strained as he fought off the laughter, "I suppose you _did_ say that armor was armor."

"Laugh it up," Hara sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "So this Gunjar fellow wasn't quite 6' 2". I'll change when I find something better."

"Maybe over here?" Ralof offered, crossing the room and over to the wooden gate behind where Kyrie stood. "Perhaps the Imperials left some armor lying around in the next room."

He tried heaving the gate open, but gave up a moment later with a shake of his head.

"No use," he sighed. "Someone would have to open it from the other side."

Almost as if on cue, however, the sound of a familiar voice from the room on the other side of the gate caught Kyrie's ears.

"Come on, soldier! Keep moving!"

"It's the Imperials! Get down!" Ralof hissed, gripping his ax tightly.

Oh, Kyrie knew who it was. That was the guard captain who had so easily damned two innocent women to slaughter. She wouldn't forget that voice. She had sworn she never would.

"Stay behind me, kid," Hara whispered, unsheathing Gunjar's steel ax that she had also taken off the dead rebel's body. "I'll keep you as safe as I can. Just be sure to stay away from any swinging weapons."

Kyrie frowned slightly at this. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to fight. She had once trained with the hope of joining the Legionnaires. She had almost done it, too, if not for the fact that she had been afraid it would take her away from Ayrlyn. The Legionnaire recruiters had been sorely disappointed when she had turned down their offer in the end. Still, though, doing what Hara said would be the better idea. After all, she had neither a sword nor armor. Facing off with a Legionnaire captain in her condition would just be foolish.

"Get this gate open!" the guard captain shouted.

Kyrie made a face at the woman, though no one could see.

_Does that woman ever shut up? She's so damn loud, she's giving me a headache. And I'm not even standing next to her!_

The trio watched as the gate opened and two Imperial soldiers – one the captain, the other a soldier Kyrie didn't recognize – stepped out. Then, in a flurry of flashing steel, Hara and Ralof were upon them. The regular soldier crumpled to the floor in a wail of agony as Hara brought her ax down heavily on the man's neck, but the Imperial captain wasn't going down without a fight as she fended off strike upon strike from Ralof and Hara's combined attacks.

Almost without thinking, Kyrie darted through the now-open doorway to where the body of the dead soldier lay. Grabbing up the man's sword, which had barely even been unsheathed, the young woman spun to face the guard captain who currently had her back to her. Kyrie wasn't certain, but she wondered if maybe the captain had yet to realize that there was even a third person in the mix.

"You wanted to send me to Sovngarde?" Kyrie muttered under her breath, grinning menacingly as she brandished her new-found weapon. "Well happy birthday. I'm sending you there first."

And then with that, she bolted forward, driving the sword deep into the captain's back. The Imperial let out a strangled cry, one lung pierced through, before collapsing to the floor at Kyrie's feet, leaving Ralof and Hara to stare at her in surprise.

"You didn't know I almost became a Legionnaire, did you?" Kyrie grinned. "Thought I'd give you a hand."

"Idiot," Hara sighed, cuffing the shorter woman on the back of the head. "That was stupid." Then, grinning, she added, "Still, though, pretty impressive. I now know who _not_ to piss off."

A chuckle escaped Kyrie's lips as she rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head.

"Well," Ralof said, "now that that's settled, let's see if one of these Imperials has the key we need to get through the other door."

"You mean this one?" Hara inquired, fishing through the guard captain's clothes and pulling out a polished skeleton key.

"That looks about right," the Stormcloak nodded. "Try it in the door and see if it works."

With a nod, the towering woman crossed over to the door of iron bars on the opposite side of the room and slid the key into the key hole. There was a click as she turned it, and with a light shove the door swung back on protesting hinges.

"There we are!" Ralof said in satisfaction. "Let's see where this leads."

"Alright," Hara grinned, tossing the key aside and cracking her knuckles, a menacing look on her face. "Now then, what other vermin we can chase out of this rat-hole?"


	4. Mage Fire

The flapping of birds' wings and the calling of crows startled Ayrlyn from a restless sleep. Where was she? What was going on? The pain in her side reminded her of what had happened the night before, and a bitter sob escaped her lips as the memory replayed in her mind.

* * *

_The soldiers came out of nowhere. Ayrlyn had heard the quiet tramping of feet as Hara prattled on, but this…no, Ayrlyn had not expected this. The soldiers were shouting something about Stormcloaks. Stormcloaks? Really? Were they blind?_

_The red-armored men had immediately started attacking the moment Hara had grabbed her sword and, seeing that there was no way to talk her way out of the mess, Kyrie had also drawn her sword._

_Ayrlyn backed toward the fire. She had never been trained to face soldiers. Skeevers or spiders, sure, but Imperial soldiers? But there were more enemies here than Hara and Kyrie could handle on their own. Ayrlyn knew that. She had to try. Summoning a sparks spell, Ayrlyn sent a beam of arching electricity toward a nearby soldier. But it was as she had feared. Her spells were skeever-qualified, not soldier-qualified._

_Immediately the soldier turned on her, his sword glittering in the light of the campfire._

"_Ayrlyn!"_

_Kyrie's scream echoed in her mind like the voice of the damned…shrill, panicked, desperate. The older girl turned to help her sister, but the soldier Kyrie had been fighting wasn't about to give up yet._

"_Kyrie!" Ayrlyn shrieked as the soldier bashed his shield against her sister's head. The older girl fell heavily to the ground, her sword clattering to rest by her side._

_It all happened so fast, yet it felt like a lifetime. A moment later, Imperial steel flashed in front of Ayrlyn's face and she threw up a ward spell as the sword bit into the flesh on her side. If not for the spell, the young woman knew she would have been dead in moments._

_Ayrlyn stumbled backward, yelping as she felt the flames of the campfire lick at her heels. There was a blur of movement before the tip of a broadsword pierced the Imperial soldier's body and he fell over dead. It was Hara. She was panting heavily from the fight, blood streaking her arms, face, and chest plate, though Ayrlyn could tell that she was, herself, unwounded._

"_Run!" Hara shouted over her shoulder, turning back to the five or six soldiers who still remained and taking a defensive stance. "Get out while you've got the chance! You're not fight material, kid."_

_Ayrlyn wanted to stay. She wanted to know if Kyrie was still alive. But she knew that Hara was right. As she was, she was little more than a burden in battle. She had to escape. At least, she had to try. It was what Kyrie would have wanted._

_Her side still bleeding from her wound, Ayrlyn stumbled in the direction of the darkened forest. One of the Imperial soldiers lunged for her but Hara darted in the way, blocking his path and providing Ayrlyn with a means of escape. She didn't know where she was going, but she ran all the same. She summoned a healing spell as she ran, sealing the wound off as best she could. But there was only so much strength she had at her disposal. With the sound of fighting more distant than it had been, Ayrlyn collapsed between the gnarled roots of an old tree, curling up in the nook and hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly. She didn't remember falling asleep._

* * *

It was morning now. Still early, it seemed, too. Grey light filtered softly through the motionless tree branches above her. The forest was so quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos Ayrlyn had fallen asleep to. One would have never guessed that there had been a battle there just the night before.

Stiffly, the young woman shoved herself to her feet, summoning a healing spell and waiting as the warm golden glow suffused her body, chasing away some of the pain of the previous night's wound. Then, when at last all her magicka was spent, the girl set off in the direction she thought she had come. Perhaps if she could locate the campsite again, she could at least find out about her sister's fate.

The girl paused after only a few yards, however, glancing back and forth in search of something familiar. It had been so dark, and she had been so dreadfully frightened. With leaves and natural debris blanketing the forest floor, she doubted she would have left any footprints, either. That was a good thing, as far as the previous night's incident was concerned, but…

Drawing in a deep breath to steady her nerves, Ayrlyn flipped open the satchel she wore at her hip, fishing around in it until she pulled out a familiar bluish-purple vial. A magicka potion. She didn't have many. They were notoriously expensive. Even the three weak potions she had picked up before heading to Skyrim had cost her a good 20 septims a piece, the equivalent of nearly an entire week's stay at an inn. She had sworn she would use them for emergencies only. The loss of her sister, though, seemed like emergency enough.

Taking in another deep breath, the young mage pulled the cork out of the vial, tipped her head back, and poured the awful liquid down her throat. Kyrie used to make fun of her for putting herself through that torment when they were kids, but it was a necessary evil. Ayrlyn wasn't yet strong enough or experienced enough to keep from running out of magicka quickly.

As the tingle of replenished magic energy coursed through the girl's body, Ayrlyn lifted her right hand, an unnatural pale mist forming the semblance of a trail through the forest. Clairvoyance. It was the first spell she had ever learned, thanks to her older sister's propensity for getting lost. The trail would lead the way to whatever target she focused her mind on, within reason, as long as the spell was summoned.

_I am forever having to find you, Ky_.

Instantly, Ayrlyn took off at a run, her dark brown eyes rooted to the magical trail at her feet. She could only keep the spell up for so long before it drained her of her magic energy, and it would be a while before her strength could restore itself. She had to make use of what she had while she had it.

* * *

A flock of birds erupted from a nearby tree as Ayrlyn trotted to a stop in the clearing she, Kyrie, and the mercenary called Hara had all been resting in when the attack had started. There was no sign of human life there now, but it was obvious that there once had been. The ground was stained crimson in haphazard patches, and there were several deep scrape lines that looked as though a large sword had been dragged along the ground.

Quietly Ayrlyn knelt down next to the spot where Kyrie had fallen. There was no blood here, but there _were_ scrape marks, as though a heavy weight had been dragged along the ground. Kyrie's sword was gone, as was every other possession Kyrie and Hara might have had. A flutter of hope stirred in Ayrlyn's heart. It was possible. Kyrie might still be alive.

Just then a low growl broke through the underbrush, and instantly the young mage spun to face the source, a sparks spell appearing in each hand. A dark shadow stirred nearby, followed by another growl. Ayrlyn could feel her heart beating a wild rhythm in her chest, thrumming in her ears so loudly that, if she didn't know better, she might have thought the whole forest could hear her.

The sound of movement behind her caused the girl to turn, and in a moment there were two dark forms coming at her from two different directions. A frightened scream split the still forest air as Ayrlyn bounded backwards, narrowly avoiding two sets of snapping teeth. Wolves! They must have been drawn to the scent of blood. And she just had to be right in the path of the merciless beasts.

Putting her hands together, the young mage sent out a stream of arching electricity in the direction of the wolves. The violet bolts struck the beasts' bodies, causing then to stumble but doing little beyond that. It was no use. Even combined, her destruction magic wasn't strong enough to stand up to two wolves. And in any case, sparks spells were meant to wear down magic-users more than melee opponents. Wasn't that what she had read? Wasn't that why…?

The wolves circled in for another attack. One lunged for Ayrlyn's throat, but she quickly dodged out of the way. The other one came at her, then, but there was no time to dodge. Out of instinct, the girl threw up her left arm to guard against her attacker, and the creature bit down hard on her forearm. A sudden burst of pain rushed up her arm as the sickening sound of breaking bones caught the girl's ears. It took a moment for her to realize those were her bones breaking, but that moment was enough. She had to try it. She had to try it _now_.

Releasing the sparks spells, the young woman summoned what power she had left to form a ball of dancing flames in her right hand.

_Destruction magic, novice level, flames spell!_

Quickly Ayrlyn grabbed the wolf by the muzzle as the second wolf came at her, a burst of flame singeing the beast's sensitive skin. The wolf darted back with a yelp, running into its mate and momentarily slowing both of them down.

With a war cry, the young mage directed her good hand toward the creatures, a river of flames spilling over the tips of her fingers. She could feel the magicka draining out of her. She had never used this spell before. She had only learned it the day before she left Cyrodiil. She didn't have a firm grasp of it and she could tell. Most likely, she would run out of magicka before she managed to kill or chase away the relentless beasts.

The wolves darted out of the way of the burning flames, the hot tongues scorching whatever they touched. Each time the wolves tried to get in close, Ayrlyn sent a burst of fire their way. But she knew better than to think she could keep that up forever. And it almost seemed as though the wolves knew that, too.

And then it happened. The flames that licked harmlessly around Ayrlyn's fingers flickered, then died away. Instantly, the wolves lunged forward simultaneously. What happened after that occurred so quickly that the girl couldn't tell exactly what happened when. There was the stench of the wolves' breath in her face. A piercing scream erupted from her throat. And then, somewhere amidst it all, there were arrows.


	5. Darkwater Crossing

The sound of a crackling fire caught Ayrlyn's ears long before she gained enough consciousness to open her eyes and look around. Where was she? That seemed to be a question she was asking all too frequently these days.

Slowly the girl sat up, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her arm. She glanced down at her left arm to the place the wolf had bitten her. Someone had bandaged and splinted the damaged limb. The wrapping was neat and snug, but not too tight, evidence of someone who was very familiar with physical injury.

Quietly Ayrlyn raised her good hand, summoning a healing spell and scanning her surroundings as the healing warmth suffused her body. She was currently sitting on a bed roll that had been laid out on the floor in front of a warm hearth. The building itself seemed to be a small cabin of sorts, with a table shoved into the corner on the far side of the one-room edifice, and a simple double bed set up at the end closest to the fireplace. Decorations were sparse, a few tanned skins hung on the walls and a sabrecat head mounted above the fireplace, but not much else beyond that. A woodsman's hut, maybe? She wasn't sure she had ever been in a house that small before.

As the light of the healing spell flickered out, Ayrlyn wracked her brain for some memory of how she had ended up where she now sat. She remembered the wolves bearing down on her as she ran out of magicka. She remembered screaming, a chill of fear and dread washing over her body. Then, as the wolves' teeth had been within a hair's width of her skin, an arrow had struck one wolf in the heart. The other wolf had bounded back in rage and surprise, but it hadn't been able to move far before a single arrow struck it dead. After that, Ayrlyn wasn't sure. There was a woman's voice, but she couldn't remember what had been said. All she remembered was passing out. And somewhere between now and then, she had woken up here in this cabin.

Ayrlyn was still wracking her brain for any possible fragmented memories when the door to the cabin opened and in stepped an older woman in woodsman's garb. She didn't seem horribly old. Late 30's or early 40's perhaps? The woman was a Nord for sure, with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes. She currently had a bow and quiver full of arrows slung across her back. A dagger hung at her hip.

"Ah, you're awake," the woman smiled, crossing the short space between them and kneeling next to the girl sitting on the bed roll. "How's that arm?"

"Um…" Ayrlyn blinked back before glancing down at her injured arm. "It hurts, but not as bad as it did before I used a healing spell on it. Are you…the one who saved me?"

"That's right," the woman nodded, standing up and stepping off to the side of the hearth to stir something in a pot hanging over the fire. "Although you did a pretty good job of holding those beasts off on your own, all things considering. Are you an adventurer?"

"No," Ayrlyn sighed, staring at her bandaged arm as though somehow it held some sort of unanswered secret. "I…I got separated from my sister last night. I was looking for her."

"Separated?" the older woman questioned, pausing in what she was doing to look over at the young mage. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by soldiers," Ayrlyn replied, shivering and hugging her knees to her chest despite the pain in her injured arm. "We came up from Cyrodiil a few days ago, but my sister…my sister just likes wandering around, so we really weren't going much of anywhere. We stopped to camp with a mercenary named Hara in that clearing where you found me. We were just camping there when, all of a sudden, a bunch of Legionnaires appeared, shouting something about Stormcloaks. They attacked us, so we fought back. Well…my sister and the mercenary fought back. I tried but…" She choked back a sob as the memory of the previous night's events ran through her mind. "A soldier attacked me when I tried to help my sister, and then when she tried to help me, one of the soldiers knocked her out with his shield. Hara gave me enough time to escape, but…"

By this point, hot tears were rolling down Ayrlyn's face, and she buried her face between her knees in a hopeless attempt to hide it.

"Stormcloaks…?" the older woman mused. Ayrlyn glanced up as a look of concern crossed the woman's face.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking sympathetically down at the girl sitting nearby. "It sounds like you and your sister got caught up in the Imperial ambush. From what I hear, they even managed to capture Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion that's been causing so many problems for Skyrim. They were taken to Helgen, according to an adventurer I passed this morning. Gods know what the Legionnaires plan on doing there. If your sister is lucky, though, maybe she might be able to talk her way out of any particularly bad outcome."

A chill of dread ran down Ayrlyn's spine at the woman's words.

"What do you mean?" she inquired. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know, but she was even less sure she wanted to live her life never knowing what might have happened to her sister.

The older woman seemed to be thinking her answer over carefully.

"What I mean is…What I mean is, you should rest up while I see what other information I can find. There's no sense in thinking the worst and worrying unnecessarily, right?"

The older woman smiled down at Ayrlyn before pouring a ladle full of stew into an empty bowl and holding it out to the young mage.

"Here. Eat this. It should help you feel better."

Ayrlyn accepted the bowl reluctantly. Her stomach felt like it was all in a knot. She wasn't sure she even wanted to eat.

The girl was still staring down at her stew when she noticed her hostess heading back toward the door.

"Wait!" the red-head called quickly.

The older woman turned back, raising a curious eyebrow at her.

"What's the matter?" the blond asked.

"Where…where am I…exactly?" Ayrlyn inquired nervously. She wanted to ask where her hostess was going and what the woman had meant by Kyrie being lucky if she could talk her way out of a particularly bad outcome, but in the end Ayrlyn simply didn't have the heart to ask further.

"Blackwater Crossing," the older woman smiled in response. "We're a small mining village, but we've got good people here. I'm going out for a bit, but if you need anything, just ask one of the others. And feel free to help yourself to the food here in the house. You look like you could use it."

The young mage glanced down at her thin form. People often said she looked too skinny. But that was how she had always been. And in any case, food did not sound appealing at this moment. She could survive without a meal or two. Not that she was going to tell her hostess that. That would just be rude.

"Thank you," Ayrlyn said softly, casting a forlorn glance down into her bowl of stew. "Thank you for all your help, ma'am. I don't know how I can repay you, but I'll find a way, I promise."

"Ma'am?" the older woman laughed. "No, no. It's just Annekke. Crag-Jumper, they call me, though I'm getting a bit too old for that name nowadays. And don't worry about repaying me. I didn't help you for my own benefit."

"But…I have to do something," Ayrlyn protested.

Annekke sighed and shook her head, one corner of her mouth tipped up in a half-smile.

"Fine. I suppose there is one thing you could do for me," she said, a playful glint in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"You could tell me your name."

Ayrlyn blinked back at the older woman in surprise. That was it?

"Ayrlyn," the girl replied softly. "My name is Ayrlyn."

"Ayrlyn…" Annekke mused. "That's a pretty name. Alright, Ayrlyn. Welcome to Blackwater Crossing. And just to be clear, the only thing I ask of you is that you rest up and get better. There's no need to worry about repaying me. The satisfaction of being able to help someone in need is payment enough for me."

And then with a smile, she was off, with Ayrlyn staring after her in silent wonder. There weren't many people like that in the Imperial City. Most would want something in return. A favor for a favor. Ayrlyn had grown accustomed to that, and somehow, knowing that she didn't have to repay her hostess for everything she had done, the young mage felt even more lost now than she had felt a moment before.

Quietly Ayrlyn pulled her knees closer to her chest, burying her face between them as warm tears began to course down her face again. Why? What deity or being had she pissed off so badly that fate would find her here, an orphan on every conceivable level, with no family and no home and no idea of what to do next. She had lost everything, seemingly in a matter of moments.

But then again…

The young mage lifted her face, glancing over at the now silent door. For all that had happened, she was still alive. And furthermore, she had been rescued by one of the kindest people she had ever met. So maybe the gods were not as angry with her as she had thought. And maybe instead of moping about her situation, what she ought to be doing instead was finding a way to help the people of Blackwater Crossing. After all, just because she didn't have to help didn't mean that she couldn't.

Kyrie had often dreamed of making a life for them both in their homeland of Skyrim. Ayrlyn herself had never cared to go back to a land she didn't remember, but it was what Kyrie had wanted. And so maybe…maybe if she could make a life for herself, then at least she wouldn't be such a burden to her older sister when she did at last find Kyrie again.

Slowly, cautiously, the young mage stood to her feet and headed in the direction Annekke had gone only moments before. The sound of a river was the first thing that caught Ayrlyn's ears when she first opened the door to Annekke's cabin. It was soon followed by other noises the young mage was less familiar with: the clink of pickaxes against stone, the cluck of chickens milling around the yard, and the heavy brogue of Nord guards as they paused to talk with one another. It all seemed so strange. There had never been any miners, or chickens, or heavily accented guards in the Imperial City. At least, if there had been, Ayrlyn had never seen them.

To be honest, the young mage wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she had heard of Darkwater Crossing, but the place certainly seemed small. Annekke's cabin was, very literally, the only house around. From where Ayrlyn stood on the cabin's front porch she could see a campfire surrounded by crude tents set up along the river bank, a small garden to the left of Annekke's cabin, and a smelter located just outside the yawning black depts. of a cave entrance. "Small" and "mining" Annekke had gotten right; Ayrlyn wasn't so sure about the "village" part. At least, she was fairly certain that one cabin and a couple of tents did not qualify as a village.

The young mage was still trying to decide what she should do when a little girl of possibly 10 or 11 years of age came running around the corner of the cabin. The child ground to a halt when she saw Ayrlyn.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, trotting over to the young mage and peering up at her curiously. "Hello there. You're the lady Annekke rescued, aren't you?"

Ayrlyn blinked down at her.

"Uh…um…yes." She blushed slightly. "I suppose everyone around here knows about that, don't they?"

"It's not like it's hard to do," the little girl replied, shrugging. "There's not that many people here."

"I see…"

So she had been right. Darkwater Crossing was a small settlement indeed.

"Say, my name is Hrefna," the child said then, standing on tiptoe to get Ayrlyn's attention. "Who are you?"

"Ayrlyn," the young mage responded softly.

"Are you an adventurer?"

"Not really."

"But you're a mage, right?"

"Yes."

"So you _could_ be an adventurer."

Gods, this child talked a lot.

"I suppose so," Ayrlyn replied hesitantly.

She had never thought of herself as an adventurer, or even as adventurer material for that matter. Kyrie, yes. But _her_?

"That's so awesome!" Hrefna beamed, doing a little dance of excitement where she stood. "Can you teach _me_ magic?"

Ayrlyn blinked back at the girl in confused silence. Teach? She did well to _learn_ spells. How in Nirn was she supposed to teach them?

"Um…well…I'm not very good," the young mage protested, holding one arm as though somehow that would protect her from the child's incessant questions.

"I know that's not true," Hrefna retorted, putting one hand on her hip and shaking the index finger of her other hand at Ayrlyn as though she were scolding a naughty child. "Annekke said you held off _two _wolves all by yourself using your fire magic."

_It doesn't take much skill to do that,_ Ayrlyn frowned to herself.

"_Please_," Hrefna begged. "I promise I'm a really good student. There used to be an Argonian who worked here, Derkeethus, and he taught me how to swim real good. He isn't here now, and I miss him, but if I could learn magic, that would be almost as good, right?"

For a moment Ayrlyn stared down at the child in wonder. Then her eyes softened slightly and she smiled. Yes. Hrefna had it right. She had someone who she cared about who she had gotten separated from. And yet, despite that, she kept looking, kept learning, kept growing. She didn't let the sadness of her separation slow her down.

"Okay," Ayrlyn said softly, forcing a smile onto her face. "I'll give it a try."

* * *

_Poof!_

"Aw…" Hrefna pouted, staring down at the little tendril of smoke that spiraled from her outstretched palm. "It went out again."

"That's alright," Ayrlyn replied, trying to hide the exhaustion in her voice. "It takes practice. Most people need months to really learn a new spell, and even when they do, it can be years before they actually master it."

The young mage and her new pupil had been out all day practicing magic. After at least a dozen demonstrations on how to use a sparks spell and at least four times as many attempts on Hrefna's part, Ayrlyn had abandoned that idea in favor of her newly acquired flames spell. Hrefna seemed to take to fire better than lightning, but still… Ayrlyn was beginning to think that she would pass out before she managed to teach the little girl how to maintain a simple flame for more than 2 seconds.

"This is impossible!" Hrefna sighed, throwing her hands dramatically in the air for good effect. The child plopped on the ground next to the local campfire, propped her elbows on her knees, and dropped her chin into her hands with a loud huff.

"It wasn't this hard to learn how to swim," the girl pouted.

"Well," Ayrlyn replied, kneeling down next to Hrefna and staring into the flickering flames of the fire before her. "Some people are just better at some things than they are at others. There's nothing wrong with that. But in any case, this is only your first day. And really good students don't give up after only one day, do they?"

Hrefna glanced over at her at this and flashed her a lopsided smile.

"No," she replied, sitting up straight and crossing her legs, her hands braced in her lap. "You're right. Say, though. How long did it take _you_ to learn magic, Ayrlyn?"

At this the young mage blushed. How could she tell Hrefna that it really had only taken her a day to learn her very first spell? Not that she had ever thought that to be particularly amazing. After all, Kyrie had learned _her_ first spell in a matter of minutes.

"Well…" Ayrlyn mused, trying to choose her words carefully. "It took me a little while. And I'm still figuring out this flames spell. But you know, I've always found healing spells to be the easiest to learn."

Hrefna raised a curious eyebrow at this.

"So why don't you heal yourself?" the girl questioned, glancing over at Ayrlyn's arm.

Quietly the young mage lifted her bandaged limb and, slowly, she began to unwrap the long strand of cloth. She grimaced at the sight of dark crimson that caught her eye, but she said nothing until the wound was exposed and she had washed it in the river. All that remained of the wolf's bite now was the faintest of scars.

Quietly Ayrlyn held her arm out for Hrefna to see, and the little girl's eyes grew wide in wonder.

"Did _you_ do that? Did you already heal yourself?"

"Yes," Ayrlyn nodded, kneeling down again. "I healed myself some when I woke up earlier. But even with magic wounds take time to fully heal."

"You're so amazing!" Hrefna beamed. "You can heal, you can use fire, you can use lightning. You must be one of the best mages ever!"

"I don't know that I'd say that," Ayrlyn responded, blushing slightly. "I've just been practicing a lot longer is all."

Hrefna looked like she might have responded to this when her eyes darted to the side and she said, "Annekke!"

Ayrlyn turned quickly in the direction the child was looking to see the blond explorer come trotting down the road and into the camp. Her chest heaved slightly, as though she had been travelling quickly for some time, and she kept looking skyward with quick, nervous glances.

"Annekke," Hrefna greeted as both she and Ayrlyn stood to meet the explorer, a look of concern crossing her young face. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

"Well, I'm glad to see that everything is quiet around here," the older woman replied, patting Hrefna on the head as though relieved to see her. "Are the others still in the mine?"

"Yes," the child nodded in response. "Not even Mama has left today, and I don't think Sondas knew I came out here to find my pickaxe. I've been learning magic from Ayrlyn."

"I see."

Annekke turned to the young mage and gave her a half-hearted smile. Then she looked back down at the little girl nearby and said, "Hrefna, would you go call everyone and tell them to meet me by the campfire?"

"Yes, ma'am," the child replied quickly, darting off in the direction of the cave.

"Annekke, what's going on? You act like there's something very wrong," Ayrlyn said, coming to stand next to her rescuer.

Quietly the older woman crossed her arms over her chest and stepped toward the campfire, her eyes locked on the flames.

"I'll…tell you when the others get here," she replied softly.

Already Ayrlyn could feel a knot forming in the pit of her stomach again. It had something to do with Kyrie, she was certain, but if Annekke needed to speak to the others too… The young mage hugged her arms to her chest as a feeling of dread washed over her body.

It didn't take long for Hrefna to reappear from the mine, followed shortly by a handful of other people: a haggard-looking Nord woman, a Nord man in miner's clothing, and an older dark elf. The local guards seemed to have noticed the small gathering as well and, a moment later, were also pressed in around the campfire. What with the red of the sunset painting everything in crimson hues, Ayrlyn thought the whole scene looked especially ominous.

"What is it, love?" the Nord man in miner's clothing questioned as he approached Annekke, who still stared solemnly into the fire.

Quietly the woman glanced up and, seeing everyone gathered around, she sighed audibly.

"The other night there was an Imperial ambush just south of here in which Ulfric Stormcloak and several others were captured."

The guards, who were dressed in light armor with a blue sash, perked up at this, a look of concern crossing their faces.

"The prisoners were taken to Helgen this morning. Gods know what for," Annekke continued. "However this morning the town was attacked. Destroyed, actually, is the better term. Currently there is no word as to whether there were any survivors, but…it doesn't look promising."

Ayrlyn clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob as hot tears welled up in her eyes.

_No! Kyrie! Oh, gods, why her?!_

Ayrlyn's horror at the news was mirrored in the faces of the others gathered around as they exchanged bewildered glances with one another.

"But…how?" one of the guards questioned in disbelief. "Who attacked Helgen? _Why_ did they attack Helgen?"

"Honestly, I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around it myself," Annekke replied, giving them a half-hearted laugh. "You may not believe it, but Helgen….Helgen was destroyed by a dragon."


End file.
